


Steele Morning – Story 1

by Camargue



Category: Remington Steele (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drama, F/M, Gen, Post-Series, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1374637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camargue/pseuds/Camargue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened to Laura Holt and Remington Steele at Ashford Castle, after the lights went out? This is the first installment of a planned series, continuing what would have been the fifth season of the show. This story can be read as a stand alone tale. My stories try to be faithful to the series canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The watery Irish sunlight slanted in through the half-a-dozen windows of the massive room, illuminating the rich decorations. Laura Holt eased silently out of a troubled sleep – her eyes fluttered as she awoke and she remembered instantly where she was. She looked up at the canopied bed, the ornate plaster ceiling and the classical, eggshell blue walls of Ashford Castle’s master bedroom; they were still the same as on the previous evening. 

And yet, the whole world was different now. Laura swiveled her head to her right: Remington Steele lay next to her, his face placid, deep in sleep. 

Laura shivered slightly in the morning chill, despite the numerous layers of bedding: luxurious Egyptian cotton sheets, the softest lambswool blankets, a goose down comforter and the most elaborate and expensive silk brocade bedspread she had ever seen. She pulled the bedclothes higher up her naked body, trying to sink deeper into the massive bed. Laura shook her head bemusedly – if this was an Irish spring morning, she dreaded to think what it would be like in winter. As a Los Angeles girl born and raised, she wasn’t used to chilly weather. 

The weight of the bedding triggered a memory – the sense-memory of Mr Steele’s body against hers, as they had made love the previous night. Laura closed her eyes and she could feel him again, pressed against her – now touching her in this place, and now stroking her in that place. Involuntarily, as if reliving the night before, Laura felt herself tense again, as she had when they had come together, clinging to each other with the desire and need born of four years of waiting. When they had finished, Laura had been emotionally spent; ecstatic and fulfilled, but also uncertain, she had drifted off to sleep wrapped in Mr Steele’s arms. 

Suddenly, Laura opened her eyes, as the joyful memory of their lovemaking gave way to the same disturbing feelings she had had before she had fallen asleep: the confusion about where she – no, where they both – stood. After so long, they had finally crossed that line, but having sex with each other merely opened the door to Laura’s same old fears. 

She felt as if she were betraying Mr Steele and herself; why did she feel rather down, on this morning of all mornings? What was wrong with her? She should be ecstatic, shouldn't she? 

When she still couldn’t get warm enough, Laura slipped out of bed, put on her heavy woolen robe and a pair of very unflattering, long socks, and walked over to the enormous fireplace. As quietly as possible, so as not to wake Mr Steele, she placed three logs on the flames, encouraging them back into life. She thought about returning to bed, but realized that she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, even though, glancing at an antique clock that stood on the mantelpiece, she saw that it was very early – still a few minutes before six. 

She fetched a leather-bound, lined notebook from her suitcase and then walked to one of the row of windows, close to the fireplace. With the walls of the castle being several feet thick, the windowsill was very deep; Laura sat down sideways on it, her left side against the glass with her knees raised and her feet propped up on the sill. 

Laura, who had not been one of the most gregarious of children growing up, had kept a diary religiously as a girl. She’d left her childhood diaries with her mother when she had left home, and then had had them sent to her later, after her house had been blown up and she had suddenly felt more sentimental about the past than she had ever felt before. It had been one of these childhood diaries that Major Descoine had stolen when he had tried to kill Mr Steele and her a couple of years previously. Writing in a diary was still something that she did, but much less assiduously than in her youth. Recent events had, however, drawn her to pick up her pen again. She found a comfortable position, and then wrote the date at the top of a new page. 

She stared at the blank paper, her mind empty. What could she write? Could she find the words to lay out her turbulent, incoherent feelings? Or should she simply state – baldly – that she and Mr Steele had finally made love the previous night for the first time in their relationship?


	2. Chapter 2

Laura flicked through earlier pages of her diary and scanned the most recent entries, mentally checking the dates. It had been sixteen days since they had gotten married – sixteen crazy days!

They had left for their ‘honeymoon’ in Mexico a couple of days after the wedding on the boat, but had only stayed there for four days before returning; it had not been a great success, as Mr Steele had spent most of that time as a wanted fugitive. Then they had jumped into what they thought was the Metzger Case, which had brought them to London – whereas all the time, their strings were being pulled by Tony Roselli, who had wanted Mr Steele in London for his own purposes. And then, as Laura read her diary entries, she saw it had been on the twelfth day of her 'marriage' that they had arrived in Ireland. What an even more hectic time it had been here in the Emerald Isle – a whirlwind of spies, double agents and plotting which had culminated in Tony Roselli's arrest.

Within an hour of Tony Roselli's being taken away by the police, Sean O'Gleason, the head gardener, had reported that two car loads of men had taken up a discreet – actually, not so discreet – watch on both the main entrance to the castle at the bridge over the lake, and at the rear entrance. It seemed that Petrossian had sent out the Russian goon squad from the embassy, determined to find out what had happened to Sterling Fitch and Sergei Kemadov. Laura had feared that they might actually attempt to storm into the castle, and Mr Steele had had Mikeline and the other staff ready to fight them off as best they could, with ax handles and shotguns, if that had happened. Luckily, the Russians had not invaded the castle, but had maintained their station at the exits, checking everyone who had attempted to enter or leave the premises.

Laura had had to admit, she had been worried then. But things had sorted themselves out a couple of hours later when Inspector O’Brien of the Garda had arrived back at Ashford Castle, accompanied by a blond, saturnine faced young Englishman, who had introduced himself as Alec Trevelyan, representing "Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service." Mr Steele had explained his plan to Trevelyan, who had immediately seen its genius and set things in motion.

The Englishman had left discreetly, but by the time of the early evening news on RTÉ One, it had been announced that Daniel Chalmers had been killed apprehending the British double agent Sterling Fitch and his Russian handler, Sergei Kemadov, both of whom had also been killed. In order to fool the Russians, the police had backed off rather than making their presence known when, much later that evening, the three caskets had left the castle in three hearses. They had been briefly opened and checked by the Russian thugs, before being allowed to pass through the main gate – it looked on the surface as if all three men were indeed dead. After that, it had been a simple matter to dispatch all three caskets to Dublin, with Kemadov apparently being routed to the Russian Embassy while Fitch and Daniel Chalmers were transported to Shannon Airport. Of course, along the way, the hearses were switched and Chalmers's body ended up at the Russian Embassy under Petrossian’s care, while Fitch and Kemadov made their escapes via the airport. Since they were believed dead by the Russians, their information would be of that much greater value; if they had been known to be in the hands of MI6 and the CIA, the codes they used, the plots they were privy to and the double agents that they had turned, would all have been quickly eliminated.

After the caskets left the castle, the next two days had been strangely becalmed, and Laura had found them oppressive. The Russian goons had left and life had assumed a semblance of normality; although, without the zaniness of the previous days, it had been so peaceful – oh, so peaceful – that in truth it had seemed a little boring. Laura had called Los Angeles to wish her sister, Frances, whose birthday had been on the same day – 20th May – that Tony Roselli had been captured and the Fitch plot had come to a head here in Ireland. There had been only one other mundane distraction: giving statements to the mysterious Alec Trevelyan and Inspector O’Brien, in a follow-up debriefing.

For the rest of the time, Mr Steele had seemed preoccupied, and Laura had wondered if he was suffering from delayed grief over Daniel Chalmers’s death. Apart from attending meals – which were always served in the dining room in a very formal fashion, rather strangely given that there were only the three of them attending in the echoing room – he would sit for hours in the library, Seán O’Casey’s The Shadow of a Gunman open on his lap, pretending to read but all the while simply staring into the fire. Laura had tried to shake him out of his torpor – had tried to make him talk about the thoughts that preoccupied him – but Mr Steele had not responded. As was his wont – as was the way of so many men, including her own father, Laura remembered – Mr Steele had repressed his feelings, resisting talking about his emotions and instead adopting the role of the strong, quiet man. Damn him!

At night, she and Mr Steele had shared the immense master bedroom, of course, just as they had intermittently since the wedding. After their return from Mexico, they had had a night in the apartment before going into work the next day, and had slept in the same bed, but neither of them had made a move to touch the other one. There was still a strange, brittle atmosphere to their relationship – they had been tiptoeing around each other. For her part, for the entire two weeks, Laura had been putting on a front; her devil-may-care attitude to let the chips fall where they may actually masked her fear and anger about the wedding. If Mr Steele – Remington – had tried to make love to her, Laura wasn’t sure how she would have reacted: with bravado or with terror. In the event, it had been a moot point; Mr Steele had not made a genuine move to touch her, probably still unsure of how things stood. He'd play up his insouciant act as the lascivious new husband, challenging Laura to have sex with him, but only when he knew that they would be interrupted – when Gladys Lynch was in the next room or Tony Roselli was on the scene.

Yesterday, Laura had finally managed to persuade Mr Steele to stop brooding in the castle's library, and they had gone for a long ride in the grounds, passing through the heavily forested estate and heading out of the glen and up into the windswept Wicklow Mountains. Mr Steele was an expert horseman and an élite class polo player, and Laura too, although she was a city girl, had always enjoyed horse riding, as long as her hay fever didn’t act up. One of her treasured possessions was a framed black and white photograph, which she displayed on her coffee table at the loft, of a ten-year old Laura with her favorite pony.

The ride had seemed to revive Mr Steele’s spirits. And then had come last night: watching the news coverage of Daniel Chalmers's funeral, before finally turning that corner in their relationship that they had put off – or had allowed to be put off – for so long. They had both known that the moment was coming, and they had both wanted it. Laura was glad she had finally made love to Mr Steele, after holding back for such a long time.

It had been hard, no doubt about it, for her to fend off Mr Steele's advances for so long. How easy it would have been to give in to one of his many sexual overtures. Women might not have sex on the brain like men, but Laura was no virginal schoolgirl either; she had been attracted to him since she had first laid eyes on him – not just in a 'this-man-is-good-looking' way, but with a soul-searing lust. It had been difficult for her to stop herself from sleeping with him, and it was only the fear of how he might hurt her that had held her back from falling into his bed. She wasn’t abnormal for wanting a commitment – she was not the type of woman to just hop in the sack with anyone.

But, as she stared at the lines of writing she had put down in her diary, she knew she was still unsure of what came next, now that they had experienced that magical moment.


	3. Chapter 3

There was a sound from the bed which made Laura glance in that direction; Mr Steele had turned over and flopped from his front onto his back. She held her breath, but he didn't wake up – it seemed he was simply adjusting his position. She rose and stood close by the bed, watching him sleep; he was naked, she knew, and he had pushed down the covers despite the early morning chill. Laura involuntarily reached over and brushed back the lick of hair that had fallen down over his right eye – it was always escaping from his blow dried hairstyle and she could seldom help herself from reaching out to push it back.

Lower down she could see, through the slight covering of hair on his upper body, the two scars on his stomach where he had been impaled on some fence spikes in London, about six months earlier. Laura winced at the memory – she hated to see him hurt, even though she usually put on a brave front and pretended it affected her less than it did. He was so slapdash – was that the word? No, cavalier – when it came to his own safety; they worked in a dangerous business, but Mr Steele got into far too many scrapes for her liking.

She turned away to look out of the window: the master bedroom was on the third floor, and there was a view out over the rear garden of the castle, with its formally laid out lawn and giant circular fountain. The lawn looked white more than green, covered as it was with dew, but the sun had risen a little higher – it looked as if it would be a beautiful morning. She flicked another glance over her shoulder at Mr Steele – he was still asleep in their bed.

Suddenly torn, Laura felt she needed to get out of there. As quietly as she could, she went into the attached bathroom and brushed her teeth and splashed some water on her face, then tiptoed to her closet and pulled out some clothes. She dressed silently, grabbed an elastic tie for her hair and her diary, and then slipped out of the room.

As Laura strode through the corridors of the castle, she was struck by how quiet it was. It was still so early that none of the staff seemed to be up yet, and she saw no one – no chambermaids cleaning or under-butlers airing out rooms and opening drapes. On the first floor, in the grand main hallway, Laura hesitated, then headed for the Map Room. This was an ancient looking, wooden paneled room, whose walls were lined from floor to ceiling with framed prints of maps. There was a huge, revolving globe, of about five feet in diameter, in one corner. Two large display tables in the center of the room contained maps which had been laid out flat and then covered by glass canopies. The first was a hand drawn map of Great Britain and Ireland, with the date '1663' at the top. The second display case contained a map of the world, with the British Empire – colored pink – highlighted on it; the map was newer and was dated '1851'.

Laura drew open the drapes of a couple of the windows to let in the light. The room was cold, so she opened the hot air vents and lit a fire in the carved, marble fireplace. Grabbing a plaid throw from the couch, she wrapped it around herself for some extra warmth, then settled herself in an armchair in the area in front of the fire, and opened her diary again.

She thought to herself that she shouldn't be here – it would be terribly rude, wouldn't it, not to be next to him when Mr Steele woke up? It was 'the morning after', after all. 'The morning after': that cliché that she had read about so often in the romance novels that were her guilty pleasure; that trope she had seen in a hundred Hollywood movies and TV shows. And in real life, Laura had been in that situation a few times herself – awaking in bed with someone for the first time after making love to them. But it wasn't just someone, was it, who was upstairs in the master bedroom? It was Mr Steele – 'the' Mr Remington Steele – and she was Mrs Steele!

Laura was struck by a shocking thought: Good Lord, she'd turned into her mother! Had she consummated her relationship with Mr Steele because she felt that she had permission to do it because they were now married? She was a modern woman, wasn't she, and not her mother? If she had wanted to have sex with Mr Steele, she could have done so at any time. So why had she been so foolish as to allow Mr Steele to manipulate her into his bed simply because they now had a marriage license – and one that wasn’t even real? Had anything really changed in their relationship other than that piece of paper? Wasn't she in the same position as she had been before – looking for guarantees from a man incapable of giving them to her?

Involuntarily, Laura balled up her right hand into a fist, so frustrated was she with herself. Mr Steele had finally gotten what he had always wanted from her. It was the inevitable way with men like him – incapable of ever being tied down, having made his conquest, Laura was sure that he would become bored with her very quickly. Why had she given in to him? God, she was a fool!

She knew her heart would be broken by this man – this Duke of Deception with the twinkle in his eye, who could twist almost any man or woman to his will. Just like her father, and even worse, like Wilson, Mr Steele – or Mr Quintain, or Harry, or whoever he was – would leave her. But knowing that her heart would be broken one day didn't make it any easier to contemplate that future prospect. All she could do was to be brave.

Laura didn’t really believe in fate; she was too rational, ever the math student, to believe that a person’s future was predestined. Once, when the two of them had been locked in a coffin and nearly cremated by accident, she had chastised herself for leaving her 'fate' in Mr Steele’s hands, but she had used the word casually. She didn’t really think that her whole life was laid out, and very much believed that she had choices and free will that had shaped her life. But this morning, sitting in this room of maps, she wondered if their two paths were always destined to cross? What if they had never met, or if they had never come together personally – might she have been spared the fear and heartache she knew she faced in the future?

Laura thought of a favorite poem, one she had memorized at school: The Road Not Taken. Laura had always loved the sound of the words, their rhythm, but had never until now really thought about them.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,  
And sorry I could not travel both  
And be one traveler, long I stood  
And looked down one as far as I could  
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,  
And having perhaps the better claim,  
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;  
Though as for that the passing there  
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay  
In leaves no step had trodden black.  
Oh, I kept the first for another day!  
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,  
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh  
Somewhere ages and ages hence:  
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —  
I took the one less traveled by,  
And that has made all the difference.

Whether their entanglement had been written in the stars or not, Laura was sure it should be no surprise to her if he shunned her now. She had often wondered if he had pursued her simply because she resisted – it was something so unusual in his experience, she had suspected that once she had slept with him, he would have soon lost interest in her. It was one of the reasons she had fended him off for so long. She did not believe him to be a callous man, who used women and then left them. But his nature was peripatetic, his ultimate commitment to stability and convention liminal, even non-existent. The only way Laura had known to control the situation, to protect herself from being loved and left, was to not enter a sexual relationship with him. And it had worked, hadn’t it? After four years, Mr Steele was still with her and was still ‘Mr Steele’.

Mr Steele had led a glamorous and exciting life, and had been, she knew, with a staggering number of women. Laura had been fascinated by him because he was his own man; he had mysteries she struggled to penetrate, and yet this independent, enigmatic, intelligent – and stunningly good looking – man had desired her for so long.

But, now that he had had her, he no longer needed to be ‘Mr Steele’ and could return to being the playboy of the Western World that he had been before he met her.


	4. Chapter 4

Perspiration beaded Remington Steele's forehead. Through the haze of his half-sleep, he was aware that he was hot; he could feel the sweat on his face and neck. Remington thrashed about for a couple of seconds, then threw the heavy bedclothes off of his body, as he crawled back to full consciousness. He opened his eyes, and shook his head as if physically trying to clear it. Why was it so hot in here? Remington immediately reached his arm out to his left, searching for Laura – but he felt only the empty bed next to him.

Steele climbed out of bed and took a moment to get his bearings, standing naked, unselfconscious. He looked around the master bedroom, but Laura was definitely gone. Walking to one of the windows, he placed a hand against the air vent in the baseboard; scorchingly hot air flowed out of it. There was also a fire roaring at this end of the room – no wonder it had been so sweltering; Laura must have woken in the night and felt cold. He walked to the fireplace and used a poker to shift a couple of the logs off of the grate, to try and tamp down the heat.

The mantelpiece clock showed it was nearly eight. Steele peeked through one of the windows, which was misted over with condensation; it looked like it was a little chilly outside, and the lawn at the rear of the castle was covered in fine dew, but it was still a beautiful morning illuminated by a clear, pale sun sitting in a cloudless sky.

And what a morning! The whole world was different now. 

He wondered where Laura had gone? It was like her, though. Laura – stubborn, vulnerable, always fearful-of-the-future Laura – had finally conquered her reticence and made a commitment to them; they had reached the end of the winding road they had been traveling! It was exciting and frightening at the same time! No doubt Laura had found the morning after too difficult to cope with – just the two of them alone in their bedroom. Far too intimate!

It had been intimate, of course, and intense last night. They had made love not aggressively – not with the urgency that he might have expected after waiting for so long – but with tenderness. Laura anyway felt so fragile to him sometimes, but last night, as they had finally crossed that line, he didn't think he could have been any other way but gentle, if not for her, then for himself. Perhaps for one of the few times, maybe the only time – he wasn't sure how he felt about Anna Simpson now – sex with a woman was not about the act but wholly about the woman. It was a strange feeling; was this what love was really like?

He had wanted to wake up with Laura in his arms. Perhaps she was at breakfast, or already up and at it, doing something – anything – to fill her time? She could be a God-fearing drudge sometimes, and seemed to struggle to relax when they were on vacation; but, he thought, this morning of all mornings she should have been next to him – the place where she belonged and where she would be in the future, he knew. But Laura was probably already polishing the silver or mucking out the stables, for want of something to do! He laughed at his own joke, and then went into the bathroom to take a shower.

Having dressed in a country gentleman's style – in brown brogues, a heavy, cream Aran sweater, and dark green corduroy pants and a rust brown moleskin sports coat from Cordings of Piccadilly – Steele headed down to breakfast. He bade a cheerful 'Good morning' to a couple of the maids, who were sweeping the corridors as he passed along. Laura was not in the dining room, but Mildred was already having breakfast as Steele entered. He noticed that she was also wearing her version of country casual clothing – brown plaid pants and a brown, lady's shirt – which was unusual, as she seldom wore pants.

"Morning, Boss," she greeted him cheerfully.

"Good morning, Mildred. Have you seen Laura this morning?" Steele asked, as he inspected the dishes laid out on the sideboard. He served himself his favorite breakfast – bacon and eggs, but with the regular toast replaced by soda farls, for an Irish twist.

"Afraid not. Have you lost her already?" Mildred asked mischievously.

"Uhm, merely lost track of her, Mildred – a temporary phenomenon, I'm sure. Is that all you're eating?" Remington indicated the slices of toast on Mildred's plate. "Don't you want some bacon and eggs or something?"

"No thanks, Boss – I'm on a diet."

"Maybe you'd like some cookies, eh?" Steele laughed. "And how are things proceeding with Mikeline?"

"Oh fine. I'm really getting a handle on the castle and all the land holdings."

"Is that the only thing you've been getting a handle on?" Steele asked, taking a mouthful of egg and bacon. The food was excellent, and all produced by the tenant farms that were attached to the castle and estate.

Mildred blushed, "Oh Chief! That would be scandalous! Mikeline and I simply have a working relationship, is all."

"Enjoy yourself. After all, you're only young once."

"I'm not that young any more – and neither is Mikeline. I think we're past the age for that kind of thing."

Steele grinned roguishly, "Nonsense, Mildred. What are you – only forty-three, for gosh sakes?"

Mildred grinned back, before resuming eating her toast.

Steele had unfolded a copy of The Dublin Times and propped it against a candlestick, and was reading as he ate, when Laura walked into the dining room. Her hair had been pulled up into a loose topknot, and she was wearing a green, waxed cotton Barbour jacket that was several sizes too large for her, and a pair of green Wellingtons. She looked ruddy cheeked, as if she had been exercising hard. "Good morning," she greeted them, as she took off her jacket and threw it over the back of a chair. Underneath the jacket, she had on a pair of ivory riding breeches and a black turtleneck sweater. Remington was momentarily overcome by pure lust – the tight-fitting clothes showed off Laura's incredible figure, and visions of last night floated into his mind; he looked away from Laura deliberately, trying to get himself back under control, and hoping Mildred had not noticed his reaction.

"Good morning," said Mildred cheerfully to Laura. "Where have you been?"

"Oh, I went for a long walk, Mildred. One of the stable hands loaned me a jacket and a pair of rubber boots. It was quite cold, though." Laura went to the sideboard and served herself a French croissant.

"Good morning," Remington greeted her. "You must have left very early – I couldn't see a hide nor hair of you when I woke up."

"I was up with the birds."

"Ah, that explains it," said Steele, watching Laura as she took a seat a couple of places away down the length of the table. The long dining table could accommodate twenty-four people, but the three of them usually sat close together at one end of it; Steele noticed that this morning, however, Laura had sat down a little further than normal from his own place at the head of the table. He wasn't sure, but he felt that Laura seemed to avoid looking at him.

"Mrs Steele, you won't forget that we’re meeting Mr Smithers this morning, will you? He's supposed to be here at nine – pretty soon now," said Mildred.

"I'll be ready, I just need to put on some cleaner shoes," Laura answered. “It’s good of him to have come this far, all the way from London.”

“He probably smells a big fee – you know what lawyers are like.”

“He might be in for a surprise.”

Mildred rose and headed towards the door. “I’ll go and talk to Mikeline before Smithers gets here,” she said as she left.

"Is everything alright, Laura?" Remington asked. "You seem a little distant?"

"I'm...I'm fine."

"I missed you this morning when I woke up."

“Oh, I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to wake you.”

“So where did you walk?”

"Nowhere in particular."

"I hope you were careful, though – you might have got lost."

"I've walked on my own before – many times."

"We could've gone for a walk together."

"It's as easy for two to get lost as it is for one."

Steele stared at Laura now. “That isn’t really the point, Laura. I would’ve thought – hoped – that after last night, I’d have woken up to find you with me.”

Laura, for what felt like the first time, met his eyes, “You’re right...It was thoughtless of me. I guess I’ll have to get used to this, now – thinking about somebody else.”

“There’ll be a few adjustments for both of us, eh?” Steele replied with a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”

Laura drained her coffee cup and rose, "I must go and change my shoes before Mr Smithers gets here."

Steele dabbed his mouth with a napkin and got up, "Well, I'll come with you."


	5. Chapter 5

In their bedroom, Remington flopped down on his side onto the bed, his head propped on one hand. Laura was applying her makeup in the mirror of the ornate, antique dressing table. "Laura, I've been thinking," he began, "what do you say we send Mildred home?" 

"To Los Angeles?" 

"Uh-huh. I mean, as lovable as she is, I don't quite know what she's doing here on _our_ honeymoon?" 

"Well, she came to London to help us with the Metzger Case, didn't she?" 

Steele screwed up his face, "Yes...well, there is no Metzger Case any more, is there, hmm? Nothing. Nada. So let's pack her off back to LA. She can look after the office – that is, when all's said and done, her job! And we can have a real honeymoon." 

"Fine. But you speak to her." 

Steele watched Laura as she took off her borrowed Wellington boots and changed into a pair of knee-high, shiny black riding boots from her closet. The close-fitting boots made her look even sexier – Steele was reminded of Tippi Hedren in _Marnie_. As Laura passed by the bed, he grabbed her hand and pulled her down beside him. 

"Oh! What are you doing?" Laura exclaimed, taken by surprise. 

"Hmm...just checking your makeup, Laura," he answered, staring at her face for a second before nuzzling her neck.

Laura giggled, "You're tickling me, Mr Steele. How do I look?" 

"You'll pass muster." Steele swiveled his head, turning his attention from the crook of Laura's neck to her lips; he kissed her. Steele ran his right hand up her back and pulled her closer, until they were facing each other with no space between them at all, the entire length of their bodies entwined. 

Laura kissed Mr Steele back intensely; she could feel her arousal in her loins...all over her body. He only had to touch her – to merely brush his lips against hers – and a flood of hormones surged through her; she was on fire. Whatever worries she had about their relationship, physically they were perfectly matched – she knew she wouldn't be able to ever stop herself thinking and fantasizing about Mr Steele, and about making love to him. 

Remington had put his hand underneath Laura's turtleneck, was rubbing the skin of her back and playing with the clasp of her bra, when there was a loud knock on the door. "Wait, wait!" Laura whispered, before pulling away from him and rolling off of the bed. She walked to the window before calling out, "Come in." Steele sighed and buried his head in a pillow. A footman entered and announced that a Mr Smithers, of Bumbridge, Cleathorpes and Cottleswaite, had arrived for his appointment. Laura gave instructions for him to be shown to the Morning Room and for some tea to be brought in. She and Remington then went downstairs themselves. 

"Mr Smithers? How nice to see you again," said Steele upon entering the Morning Room, where Mildred and Mikeline were already waiting for them. "Thank you for coming all the way from London – I really am most grateful. I'm sure you remember my wife, Mrs Steele, of course, and Miss Krebs? And this is Mikeline O'Flynn, the Chief of Staff here at the castle." 

Smithers, a rodent-faced man of about fifty wearing a conservative, dark suit, smiled ingratiatingly, "I am happy to be of service to you, Mr Steele. The Earl's family has been a client of ours for decades." They shook hands, and Steele waved the man to take a seat. 

While Mildred poured tea for everyone, Steele continued, "Mr Smithers, I – that is, my wife and I – have very much enjoyed our last few days here at Ashford Castle. However, as you know, we live in the United States and from a practical perspective, we have been considering the feasibility of owning a castle here in Ireland – especially in light of the debts we _seem_ to have inherited." 

"Debts, Mr Steele?" 

"You sound surprised, Mr Smithers. As were we! After we arrived, Mr O'Flynn informed us that there were considerable unpaid bills, running into hundreds of thousands of pounds. Mikeline?" 

"Your Lordship, Miss Krebs and I have spent the last couple o' days going over the castle accounts, the staffing roster and the inventory of the estate. By our calculations, the estate is in debt to the tune o' £693,000. Your Lordship knows about the electricity bill for £96,000 dating back to 1927, for example; but the biggest outstanding debt is to local contractors for repairs to the castle buildings – £364,000." 

"Ah..." said Smithers. 

"An understatement, Mr Smithers," replied Steele. "You can imagine my reaction when I learned of this. Now, I'm not a lawyer, but I am given to understand that under British law, someone cannot inherit the debts of a deceased person; so, while the Earl's family might have run up these debts over several decades, I think, in the end, that I can’t be held liable for them, hmm?" 

"You are correct, Mr Steele," replied Smithers cautiously. 

"Quite so. And I believe – and correct me if I'm wrong, Mr Smithers – that if an inheritance has attached debts, it is the responsibility of the executor of the will to sell off any assets and clear the outstanding debts before any heirs can receive whatever monies are left. And all of this is supposed to be supervised under the authority of the Probate Court?" 

"Yesss..." 

"Well, Mr Smithers," Remington continued benignly, "your firm – Bumbridge, Cleathorpes and Cottleswaite – were the executors of the Earl's estate, were they not? So I am left to ask myself whether, perhaps, just perhaps, there has been some tiny oversight on your part? Shouldn't settling all of these issues around the castle’s debts have been dealt with _before_ you signed over my inheritance to me?" 

Smithers looked ashen, and unable to speak, as Remington Steele smiled and sipped his tea. Laura, watching the scene, thought again how smoothly Mr Steele could manipulate people; he was letting Smithers stew in his own juice. Steele continued, "Indeed, I cannot help but wonder what the Probate Court might think of the performance – dare I say, the competence – of your firm, if this matter were brought to its attention, eh? Or, perhaps not the court. I have an inkling that it's the Law Society that is the governing body for lawyers in England – but I'm not one hundred per cent certain. Laura?" 

"I'm not sure myself – I'm an American – so maybe it's the Bar Association? But it would be easy enough to find out how to make a complaint against an English solicitors' firm for negligence...Or would it be malpractice?" Laura replied sweetly. 

"Uhm...uhm, Mr Steele..." Smithers stuttered, struggling to compose himself. "You must understand – this is in no way a case of...of negligence." Steele maintained a blank face as Mildred bit her tongue to prevent herself from grinning – the chief had the London lawyer on the ropes now. Smithers continued, "The Earl's estate was a peculiar and special case; this was one of the great aristocratic families of England, and Ashford Castle was a relatively minor property within the portfolio of holdings. It's a historical house, hundreds of years old; to sell off bits of the place to pay unpaid bills would have been...sacrilege. The view of the family, over decades, has been that their Irish holding – Ashford Castle – should remain in one piece and not be broken up and sold off." 

"Ah, I see," Remington replied. "Very commendable. It would be a shame to sell off this place piece-by-piece, or see it turned into a golf club for Japanese corporate executives, eh?" 

"Exactly!" 

"The problem is, Mr Smithers, that I am left with some rather unpleasant debts against my good name! Mildred?" 

"Mr Steele, as well as the direct liabilities against the estate which Mikeline mentioned, in theory there are unpaid wages as well. Mikeline and I did some rough calculations – there are thirty-seven employees here, none of whom have been paid for twenty-two years – that is, the ones like Mikeline who have been here that long. Some of the younger staff, like the chambermaids, haven't been around so long, but they've never picked up a paycheck. If you calculate it taking account of inflation, on paper the staff are owed about £2 million pounds in back pay!" 

"Perturbing..." 

"The good news, Boss, is that you _could_ make a lot of that back and more. The inventory showed some very valuable artifacts here – Chippendale and Sheraton furniture, paintings by van Dyke and Canaletto, seventeenth century maps, first editions of books by Thackeray and Dickens, amongst other things..." 

"Thanks, Mildred," Steele said thoughtfully. "The question, then, is how do we balance the assets with the debts, without selling off the family jewels, so to speak?" 

"And discreetly, Mr Steele," Smithers said quickly. 

"Er, yes – of course! Discretion must be our watchword! We wouldn't want the Law Society to hear about it, would we?" Steele said, twisting the knife into the lawyer one more time. "The good news, Mr Smithers, is that after discussing it, we've come up with a plan. We want to give the castle over to the employees to run it as a workers cooperative." 

"To do what?" 

"Run this place as a hotel, d'you see?" answered Mikeline. 

"I think it's rather a good plan, Smithers," said Steele. "We set up a workers' company, and all thirty-seven employees get an equal share. And equal votes – strictly democratic, a real cooperative. They run the castle as a luxury hotel, and agree to take on the debts and liabilities in return for being given the property. If and when they make any profits in the future, they would all get an equal share. Neat, eh?" 

"A very clever idea, Sir," said Smithers obsequiously. 

"And there would be a thirty-eighth and controlling share for me, which would override everyone else's vote in any critical situation. Not that I don't trust Mikeline and the rest of these fine fellows, but as you said, Mr Smithers, maintaining the integrity of the estate for future generations is the most important thing. I don't want any of the profits but, Heaven forbid, if all thirty-seven of them voted to sell the place to an Arab sheik and go and live on a beach in Jamaica, I want to be able to stop them." 

Mikeline grinned, as if Steele's mentioning of a Jamaican beach had put an idea in his head. 

"What we need, Smithers," Remington continued, "is a lawyer to set up the paperwork: establishing the holding company, drawing up the cooperative's rules, registering it with the government – all that sort of administrative stuff. And so we thought your firm would be willing – perhaps even eager – to take on the work, hmm?" 

" _Pro bono_ , of course," said Laura. "Bumbridge, Cleathorpes and Cottleswaite has to make some amends, I think – and not charging us any fees would achieve that." 

"Of course, Madam, I think you're right. I am sure my superiors will see the wisdom of offering our services _gratis_ to you – and to the castle’s workers – over this matter. Of course, we are an English firm, but we have good connections with some eminent Dublin solicitors, who can ensure that the paperwork complies with Irish law." 

"Excellent!" said Remington Steele heartily, standing up. "I think this meeting is over, then, eh? Miss Krebs and Mikeline will brief you on the names of the employees, and give you any paperwork you need – the inventory of the estate's assets, our ideas for the cooperative's rules – that kind of thing. Any questions – just speak to Mildred." 

Smithers nodded farewell to Laura and shook hands with Steele before turning to Mildred and Mikeline to continue the discussion. Laura had already left the room, and Steele took a few quick strides to catch up with her, but when he reached the corridor outside, she was nowhere to be seen.


	6. Chapter 6

Laura was ensconced in the Afternoon Room, one of the cozier and less formal of the many reception rooms on the first floor of the castle. It had at some point become the main entertainment room. The top half of the walls above the dado rail were covered in a lustrous, green silk wallpaper, which made the room light and airy. A large television and VCR dominated one end of the room, sitting on top of an elaborately carved walnut table that was about a hundred years old. Facing the television were three green, floral-covered couches laid out in a U-shape around a big central coffee table. Elsewhere in the room, Laura could see a cinema projector and a folding cinema screen, now packed away, and a selection of board games like Monopoly and Trivial Pursuit. Against another wall, a powerful stereo system had been set up, incongruously placed on top of an antique cabinet that looked to Laura as if it might have been made by Thomas Chippendale himself. Bookcases built into the walls contained not only books and magazines, but also shelves of LP records, cassette tapes and video cassettes. 

With the sun high in the sky outside, it was a lovely, warm afternoon. Laura was curled up on one of the sofas with her feet tucked under her, watching _Gone With The Wind_. Laura – sensible, rational, logical in daily life – was in her inner life, a great romantic; this was her favorite movie, one she had seen a dozen times. 

Brian O'Casey, the butler, shimmered into the room and coughed delicately, making Laura aware of his presence. “There is a visitor to see you, Your Ladyship,” he said respectfully. “Mr Roselli.” 

Laura was surprised. “Oh! Has Mr Steele been informed?” 

“Mr Roselli asked for you, Ma’am. Would you like me to inform His Lordship?” 

“Er, no. Show the visitor in, I’ll see him here. And bring some tea, will you, Brian? Thank you.” 

The butler nodded discreetly and left. Laura frowned, her mind churning, as she put on her riding boots, and flicked down the sound on the television. What was Tony Roselli doing back here, and why did he want to see her? No – they were stupid questions! She could guess what he wanted. 

Laura turned and stood as the butler showed Tony Roselli into the room, placed a tea tray on the table and then departed. She was surprised to see Tony was dressed formally, in a gray suit, a white shirt and brown tie. His clothes, though neat, looked functional; they lacked the expensive sheen of bespoke tailoring that Mr Steele’s clothes always presented, and he had foregone elaborate flourishes such as a pocket square or cuff links. “Hello Tony,“ Laura said quietly. 

Tony Roselli smiled as he approached her, “Hi, Laura.” 

“Well, you clean up rather nicely, don’t you?” 

“Courtesy of MI6 – since they were grilling me for days, I figured the least they owed me was a change of clothes when they finally let me go.” 

“Are you okay? Was it very bad?” Laura asked, as she sat down and began to pour the tea, waving Tony to one of the other couches, a safe distance away from her. 

“Nothing I couldn’t handle, you know? It goes with this line of work.” 

Laura raised an eyebrow skeptically, “And what line of work is that, Tony?” 

“Oh, a little of this, a little of that…I think you know I can’t spell it out – it’s hush-hush.” 

“I won’t tell anyone if you won’t, Tony. But a little truth never hurt any relationship – go ahead, try me.” 

“Do we have a relationship?” he smirked. 

“That…that isn’t what I meant! Who are you, Tony?” 

Tony stared at Laura for a long time, with that strangely smug look he sometimes adopted. “Three little letters, Laura – I’m sure you know them: a see, an eye and an ei…” 

“CIA?” Laura confirmed almost to herself, unsurprised by his revelation. 

“Uh-huh.” 

“We thought so; it was obvious, really.” 

“We?” 

“Mr…Remington and I. We do talk, you know!” 

“You could’a fooled me. I’ve been around you for two weeks, I didn’t see much evidence of communication between the two of you.” 

“Things have been a little…tense, I’ll admit. But you shouldn’t be fooled, Tony – we communicate okay. That’s what married people do.” 

“But your marriage is phony!” 

"Is Tony Roselli even your real name?" 

Roselli was caught short, and took a sip of his tea, before answering, "It's a name I use. But that doesn't matter. Steele married you for his visa. You know it and I know it.” 

Laura rose from the couch and walked over to the huge window, looking out at the view over the lake. The afternoon sun cast a soft, warm radiant light over the whole scene. “Why did you come here, Tony?” she asked. 

“You know why, Laura. To see you, to speak to you – about us.” 

“There isn’t any us.” 

“You’re telling me there wasn’t a spark between us? That you weren’t attracted to me the way I was attracted to you?” 

Laura turned back to face Tony, irritated now, “Ha! You got close to me, Tony, just to get close to Remington, for your silly spy games. So don’t talk to me about attraction!” 

“Maybe – at first. But there was something between us, Laura – some juice. I felt it, and I think you did too? Why did you kiss me otherwise? Why did you flirt with me, huh?” 

“I was…a little angry with Remington, that’s all. I did it to make him jealous – it was just a game. You shouldn’t fool yourself that it meant anything. It can be complicated, you know…we work together, he was my boss – and then we got married. It took us a while to settle down. But we have.” 

“I knew it!” said Roselli, triumphantly. “You were attracted to me. There is something between us!” 

“Married people can be attracted to other people, sometimes, you know. Sure, it happens. But it’s just a passing thing – like a breeze on a summer’s day. It can be there for awhile and then, it’s gone,” Laura said, snapping her fingers. “But my marriage to Remington…things have been a bit crazy in the last two weeks – sure – but sometimes our lives get a bit crazy; after all, we don’t work as librarians. But whatever the circumstances, you shouldn’t kid yourself our marriage isn't real. You need to understand that, whatever its ups and downs, it’s real.” 

“I can see why you’d be angry…you find out your boss, the great Remington Steele, is an illegal alien, a fraud. And then he forces you to marry him so he can stay in the States. It must’ve really ticked you off.” 

“You're wrong! He didn’t force me. I’m not a child, Tony. No one can make me do what I don’t want to do.” 

“Okay, so you married him by choice to save his sorry ass!” 

“No! Oh, I may have married him because he had problems with the INS – but I wouldn’t have married him if I didn’t love him.” 

“And what if he didn’t have problems with the INS anymore?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“What if his visa problems were fixed and he didn’t need to be married to you to stay in the States? Would that change anything?” 

“Not at all,” Laura replied with conviction. She turned to stare out of the window again, quietly sipping her cup of tea. Tony seemed to have run out of arguments, she thought. She hoped so; she felt drained and didn’t know how much longer she could maintain her tough façade under his relentless onslaught. Laura was churning inside and felt like she wanted to lie down in bed, pull the covers over her head and hide from the world for a few hours. 

Tony had been drinking his tea and staring at the television; the sound had been muted but the movie was still playing. “ _Gone With The Wind_?” he questioned. 

Laura half turned and glanced at the screen and nodded, “One of my favorites.” 

“Interesting…it’s a story of three people caught in a love triangle, isn’t it? The story of Scarlett’s unrequited love for Ashley Wilkes…” 

“No, Tony. You’re wrong. It’s the story of the love between Rhett and Scarlett; their relationship is turbulent but ultimately they’re made for each other and no one else. Ashley Wilkes is, when you come down to it, just a supporting character.” 

“Don’t Rhett and Scarlett eventually end up apart – separated?” 

Laura nodded thoughtfully, distracted – barely noticing Tony was in the room. “Uh-huh. Life isn’t always simple…but  it’s there to be lived. You can’t hide away from life just in case things go wrong, can you?” she asked, talking almost to herself. 

Tony put down his tea cup and stood up. Laura still had her back to him, as she stared out of the window. He could see it really was a beautiful, early summer’s day; much warmer than the previous few, extremely eventful, days that he had spent in Ireland. “You won't have any more problems with the INS – that was my deal with Steele in exchange for his help. His US passport is legitimate now. Goodbye, Laura,” he said quietly, before walking out of the room.


	7. Chapter 7

Tony closed the door of the Afternoon Room behind him and headed off down the corridor, hoping to find his way back to the main entrance. As he turned a corner, he found himself face-to-face with Remington Steele, who was casually leaning against the wall with his arms folded in front of him. Steele grinned, "Anthony! Fancy seeing you alive?" 

Tony nodded acknowledgment, "Steele." 

"Would it be rude of me, Anthony, to ask what you're doing, wandering around in my house?" 

"I, er...was lost. I was trying to find the way back to the front door." 

"Ah, I see. You know, it's customary to ring for one of the servants and wait to be accompanied back to the entrance hall. Not really the done thing to beetle off on your own." 

"I didn't know that. Sorry, I guess. I'm not too used to the rules of living in a castle." 

"No, no, of course not...Not to the manor born, eh?" 

"I'm a simple kinda guy." 

"Still, it's not the first time you've been sniffing around my property, is it, Anthony? How's my wife, by the way?" 

"I just talked to her. Funny, she never seemed to me like she was anybody's property." 

"Hmm, true enough. A very independent sort, is _Mrs_ Steele. What did you talk about?" 

"Oh, this and that. I just wanted to say thanks...she saved my life. Actually, you both did." 

Steele clapped him on the shoulder heartily, "Don't mention it, old chap!" He led them into one of the numerous reception rooms, then to the French doors, and pushed straight through them, into the landscaped garden at the back of the house. "Have you seen much of the grounds? I know you went swimming in the lake, but the rest of the estate is spectacular – acres and acres of it. Walk with me, Anthony." Steele strolled off down one of the gravel paths, his hands in his pants' pockets. Tony followed, only a step behind him. 

From another of the rooms that overlooked the rear garden, watching through a window, Laura observed the two men in conversation. 

Tony could see the massive circular fountain that dominated the back garden, surrounded by the lawn, as smooth as a billiard table, stretching away towards the castle's perimeter walls and the forest beyond. "This is real nice," he said, by way of something to say. 

"So, what does the future hold for you, Anthony?" asked Steele. 

"Uh, I dunno yet. Unmasking Fitch has given me some credit in the bank with my bosses. I guess I'll head back to DC...wait and see what they have in mind for me." 

"Ah, Washington? And who are your bosses, exactly? FBI? CIA? NSA?..." 

"Yeah, one of them..." 

"A veritable alphabet soup, eh? Still, I don't suppose it really matters, does it? They're all part of the same intelligence community, aren't they?" 

"Yeah, sure." 

"You know, Anthony – you really are a bit of an enigma, aren't you? I must admit, I was surprised when you told me in London that you were a part of that intelligence community. You appeared so...unlikely..." 

"Well, appearances can be deceptive, y'know." 

"Of course, of course they can! But, my dear chap, you project a particularly deceptive appearance, don't you? So...mundane! Such a blue collar, ordinary mien that you have? The last thing you seem to be is Machiavellian enough to be a spy. If one didn't know better, one might think you...lacked the intelligence to be a part of the intelligence community, hmm?" 

Tony scowled, but controlled his temper. "I'm easy to underestimate, I guess. That could be a fatal mistake, though. It has been in the past for some people." 

"No doubt, no doubt!" 

"Like I said, appearances can be deceptive." 

"Well, we agree on something, then." 

"Yeah. Your appearance, for example – it's pretty deceptive, isn't it?" 

"Really?" 

"Sure it is. You're a world famous detective, the man who solved the Hapsburg Dagger mystery. And yet, you and I know that you are an illegal alien into the US, don't we? Nothing but a wetback." 

"Nasty phrase, that." 

"But accurate, wouldn'cha say? But you know what's really funny? I know you aren't American, but nobody knows quite what you are!" 

"Ah, maybe you haven't looked in the right places?" 

"Oh, I looked, believe me. The people I work for, they're an elite organization, you know? We got access to the most sophisticated databanks, we got world class resources – hey, information is our business! But I couldn't find anything much about you! I even called in favors from some friends in British Intelligence...No one named 'Remington Steele' was born anywhere in the British Isles in the last fifty years, that's for sure! No one seems to know where you came from..." 

"You obviously didn't search hard enough, Anthony." 

"I dunno about that. You've sure got a lotta aliases – the Metropolitan Police have records of you under five, including Murrell, a Frenchman, and Fabrini, an Italian – though you don't look Italian to me! And Interpol have some of those aliases connected with certain incidents – a stolen painting here, some missing jewels there – although it's always in a gray area – 'wanted for questioning' – and never anything as clear cut as a suspect. You know, I even heard rumors that you might actually have worked for The Company." 

"Is that so?" 

"Uh-huh. But no one I could find had heard of you. The first time you cropped up on the radar was only three years ago, when you helped Eugene Price, the West Coast Operations Director, catch some guy giving away information to Red China." 

"Ah, Mr Price! I vividly remember working with him." 

"Care to explain why you don't seem to exist, Steele?" 

" _The Human Factor_." 

"Huh?" 

" _The Human Factor_ – Richard Attenborough, Nicol Williamson, Rank Films, 1979. A film about a filing clerk who works for British Intelligence, Anthony; a man who has a natural talent for organizing information, and for arranging intelligence files...and for making them disappear if he wants." 

"Uh-huh? So, your files disappeared some time, did they?" 

"Maybe access to them was above your pay grade? Does it matter?" 

"I guess not. It all worked out in the end, didn't it?" 

"Exactly!" exclaimed Steele. They had reached the castle walls, and Steele now led them through one of the gates and into the woods beyond. "I suppose our business with each other is concluded now, isn't it, old sport?" 

Tony looked down briefly, careful to keep to the path as they made their way through the trees. "Yeah, I guess so. Like I said Steele, I do owe you a 'thank you' over this whole business." 

"Don't mention it, Anthony. I can't say I was too happy about being blackmailed into taking part in your scheme to catch Helmsley, but as you said, all's well that ends well." 

"Maybe. But I pay my debts." 

"Oh?" 

"I've fixed it – your immigration status. You won't have any problems with the INS ever again. And neither will Laura. Just like I promised." 

"You're repeating yourself, mate! You already gave me Shannon Wayne's statement against me." 

"I've done more than that. You're officially legitimate. That passport that was issued to you when you appeared to be an American citizen, even though you didn't even have a Green Card – that passport is legitimate as well now. INS won't bother you anymore, at all. Ever." 

"Really? That's quite a boast." 

"Hey, even at _my_ pay grade, I got some pull, you know! The...organization I work for is very powerful. Your illegal entry into the States has been retrospectively deleted – it never happened. The files show that you did get residency and then did get citizenship and then got your passport – in that order. You're free and clear. You're an American, now, Steele." 

Remington stopped walking and stared at Roselli, a look of surprise on his face. "You fixed all that? That's quite a rewriting of history, isn't it?" 

"Yeah, sure. Like I said, my people have got pull." 

"So I'm an American now, eh? Come what may?" 

"Yeah. Of course, you know what that means, don'tcha Steele?" 

"Hmm?" 

"You don't need Laura anymore. Leastwise, not to get back into the States. And Laura doesn't need you. You don't need to be married to an American citizen to have the right to live in LA, 'cos you _are_ an American now, as far as the government is concerned. You and Laura don't have to be married to each other at all, if you don't wanna be."


	8. Chapter 8

Steele pushed open the door and entered the master bedroom. It was warm; the fireplaces at both ends of the long room had been lit, despite how relatively mild the day had been. He saw Laura sitting at the dressing table, wearing her light blue bathrobe. She had let her hair down, and although she had cut it just before they had left for Mexico, it still flowed down around her shoulders. She flicked a glance in the mirror but didn't look round as he came in. 

"Hello there," said Remington in a friendly tone of voice. "What a surprise seeing you here." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, you've been MIA since this morning, Laura." 

"I was in the Afternoon Room for most of the day, actually – I watched _Gone With The Wind_." 

"Ah! Clark Gable, Vivien Leigh..." 

"I know the annotation, Mr Steele. We both do, don't we?" 

“Yes, yes...you're right, of course," said Steele, coming and squeezing himself onto the edge of Laura's stool. "My apologies, Laura; my habit of citing films must get a bit annoying sometimes, especially one as familiar as that. Boring, even?” 

"I wouldn't say that," Laura answered softly. 

Steele wrapped his arm around Laura's waist and nuzzled the back of her neck; he could smell the lavender on her body from the soap she used. "I missed you today," he whispered, as he moved his head around to nuzzle her right ear. 

"Did you?" Laura asked; she closed her eyes for a moment and leaned her body back into his, molding herself to his presence. 

"Of course I did. So, er, what’re you doing?" he asked, still nuzzling her earlobe, and rubbing her left breast through the heavy cloth of her robe. 

Laura could feel her arousal as she struggled to get the words out, "Just getting ready for dinner. Are you going to change?” 

"I'll have a shower in a minute," Steele said, still with his arm around her. Although they had not been following any proper rules of etiquette since they had arrived at Ashford Castle – Steele's tuxedo and Laura’s evening gowns had stayed unused in their closets – they did 'dress' for dinner by at least changing clothes after a long day of country walks or horse riding. Or watching _Gone With The Wind_. 

Steele watched Laura; she had been fiddling around with her vanity case when he had come into the bedroom, looking through the tray that contained her jewelry. He unwound himself from her body and reached over to pick up a gold chain with a heart-shaped pendant attached to it. "Hello – I haven’t seen this for a long time," he said. The pendant had been a gift from him to her. 

"I always have it with me." 

"You never wear it, though, do you?" 

"I...I have worn it, I'm sure." 

"I don’t think so, Laura," said Steele, dropping the chain back into the vanity case with the rest of Laura's jewelry. 

"Men aren't that observant about what women wear, are they? You probably didn't notice." 

"I'd have noticed. Ever since I gave this to you, you've never worn it – at least in my presence," he said, staring at Laura in the mirror. She kept her eyes downcast, averted. 

"Oh...Well, shall I wear it tonight then?" 

"It's up to you, isn't it, Laura?" 

"Would you like me to wear it? 

"Only if you want to. It's your decision." 

Laura looked up now and met his gaze in the mirror. "But I'm asking you what you think? Surely you can give me a definite opinion, instead of beating around the bush? Do you want me to wear the chain you gave me, or not?" 

"Well...yes! I would like you to wear the chain I gave you. Of course I would." 

"In that case, I shall. Will you help me, please?" Laura placed the chain around her neck, holding the two ends behind her. Steele took the ends from her and closed the clasp; their fingers brushed each other's for a fraction of a second. 

Steele rose suddenly and, taking off his rust brown sports coat, flopped down on top of the bed. "So, anything interesting happen today?" 

"Nothing that interesting, no." 

"Oh...funny, I thought there might have been." 

"How about you? Did you do anything interesting today?" Laura asked, staring at herself intently in the mirror as she applied her makeup. 

"Erm, no...I can't say I did anything very interesting – unless you count the meeting with Mr Smithers?" 

"That wouldn't qualify as major news, would it?" 

“No, I suppose not.” 

"You didn't meet with anyone else, did you?" asked Laura, watching Steele in the dressing table mirror again. 

“What makes you ask that?” 

“Nothing in particular. I just wondered, that's all. You would have to have a lot of meetings with the staff, or the tenant farmers, maybe – if you ran this place." 

"Ah, I see your point.” 

"You didn't answer the question.” 

“What question?” 

“Did you meet anyone else today – other than Smithers?” 

“I had no meetings _planned_ today.” 

“Oh, I see. But sometimes there are accidental meetings, aren't there? Unplanned events?” 

Steele scratched his jaw pensively, "Uhm, this is a very odd conversation, Laura. Why are you babbling on about meetings?" 

Laura had finished putting on her makeup; she swiveled around on the stool and started to put on her shoes, a pair of two inch-heeled, black sling backs. "It was just a question, that's all," she said. "I'm asking you about your day! That's what married people do, isn't it?" 

"I suppose so," said Steele, sitting up. He started to take off his shoes and socks. 

“So, did you have any accidental, unexpected meetings with anyone today?” 

"Well, if you must know, I did meet Tony Roselli this afternoon." 

“Tony? Tony Roselli! And you didn't consider that major news? The man who's been dogging us for more than two weeks, who manipulated us into coming to London in the first place?” 

Steele stood up and removed his Aran sweater. "Well, Laura, you know...he's such a familiar face, isn't he? He's been hanging around you for such a long time, it's hardly worth mentioning, is it?" 

"What do you mean, 'hanging around me'? You were the one he always wanted! He needed the great Remington Steele as his courier, didn’t he?" Laura walked to her closet and pulled out a dress. 

“He wanted me? Did he tell you that, then, when you spoke to him?” 

“Spoke to him?” 

Steele undid his pants and slipped them off. "Yes – this afternoon. When you spoke to him this afternoon, did Tony tell you that his main interest in getting to know us was to recruit me to catch Helmsley?" 

Laura stepped behind the closet door, out of his field of vision, before taking off her robe. "You knew that I spoke to him this afternoon? You knew it all the time! This entire conversation since you came in the room was just an act, wasn't it?" 

“I might ask you the same question, Mrs Steele! What was all that rubbish about whether I'd had any interesting meetings today, eh?" Steele hung his pants on the end of the bed. 

Laura put on her panties and a slip, before closing the closet door, so that she could see him again. "Fine! I admit it! Yes, I knew you had talked to Tony – I saw you together in the garden. I was just waiting to see if you would tell me about it. I was a fool to expect any honesty from you." 

Steele shucked down his briefs and left them lying on the floor. He stood unselfconsciously naked as he answered, "You didn't exactly volunteer the fact that you had tea with Roselli this afternoon, now, did you? Would you care to tell me what the two of you talked about?" 

Laura tried to ignore the fact that Mr Steele was naked, as she took her Diane von Fürstenberg wool wrap dress off its hanger and wrapped it around her body, before looking up at him. "He told me that he's arranged it so that your passport is legitimate now." 

"He told you that, did he?" Steele queried. He turned to his closet and retrieved his dark blue dressing gown. Laura noticed, incongruously, that he had a silk handkerchief carefully displayed even in the pocket of his robe. Putting it on, he said, "He told me the same thing – he's fixed it so that I'm officially an American citizen." 

Laura wound the dress's belt around her and tied it in place. The dress was midnight blue, figure hugging and looked glamorous – even though it was three-quarter length and long sleeved and showed off little flesh directly. Laura looked at herself in the full length mirror; satisfied with her appearance, she turned back to Mr Steele, "He also said that we didn't need to be married anymore in order for you to remain in the country." 

“Well, I guess he was consistent in what he was telling us both, eh?” 

“He was right, wasn't he? We only got married so that you wouldn't be deported – and now, you can't be. So I guess we don't need to be married anymore, do we?” 

Steele sat down heavily on the bed, as if felled. "What are you talking about, Laura?" 

Laura stared at the floor for a second, unable to look at Remington. "Just what I said. We only got married so that you could stay in America, didn't we?” 

“Er...I suppose that's why we originally got married, yes...” 

“But that doesn't apply any more, does it? Didn't we say that we would get divorced after two years, if the INS was okay with your remaining in the country? Well, that isn’t a factor anymore. We could get a divorce any time we like.” 

Steele stared at Laura, his jaw hanging open. "I...I don’t understand what you're saying..." 

Laura felt exposed standing in the middle of the room, and walked to one of the windows and perched on the sill, before replying, "I guess...when we get back to LA, we can file for divorce. We can bring forward what we were always going to do anyway – right?" 

“Is that what you want?” 

“This is just a marriage of convenience. It's not a real marriage, is it?” 

“It didn’t feel like a marriage of convenience last night, did it? Not to me, anyway.” 

“You mean, when we made love? When we finally consummated our relationship?” 

“Precisely! That wasn't nothing, was it? I mean – after four years of knowing each other...” 

“No, no, no! It was wonderful. I'm glad we slept together. We'd been building up to it, I guess; it was an itch that needed to be scratched.” 

“I thought it was a hell of a lot more important than an itch that needed to be scratched!” Steele shouted. 

“You’ve had me now, haven't you, Mr Steele? It's all that you've ever really wanted, isn't it? I don't expect there’ll be any reason for you to be interested in me any more.” 

“How can you say that? Bloody hell! What's wrong with you?” 

Laura was angry now, “What's wrong with me? I'm just following the logic of where we stand. The marriage was a sham – it was built on a lie! We didn't get married for real and there wasn't a shred of truth to this marriage, was there? You were ready to marry a hooker, if your plans hadn’t gone wrong. So what possible reason could there be not to get divorced?” 

“I know we got married as part of a scheme, but I thought things were different now. We made love to each other last night – doesn’t that mean something to you?” 

"Sex! Is that all you can think about? So we finally had sex – but that doesn't change anything about our phoney, worthless marriage, does it? I had to marry you to keep you in the country! Fine! – I did it and I take responsibility for my actions. But what possible reason could there be for staying together, huh? This fake marriage turned the last honest part of my life into a lie – my personal life. I can’t live like that.” 

“But what about us, Laura? We’ve been groping towards each other for three years! Last night was the culmination of that – I thought we were making a profound commitment to each other!” 

Laura’s face was like thunder now, “What commitment? Has anything changed for ‘us’ compared to the last three years – except for the fact that we slept together? We're not really right for each other, are we?” 

Steele looked heavenwards, as if seeking inspiration, but all he saw was the canopy of their four poster bed. His mind felt overwhelmed – he couldn’t quite take in what Laura was saying to him. "I can't believe what I'm hearing!" 

"We can go back to how we were, can't we? You’re Remington Steele – 'the Remington Steele'. We can simply go back to being colleagues who work together – you’ll be the world famous detective and I'll be your associate. You'll be free to do as you want. And...if you want to leave – to move on – you can, I guess. I'll miss you, though." 

"What are you talking about? I don't want to leave. Jesus! Where the bloody hell did this all come from? I thought we were closer than we'd ever been last night? I thought we’d be together for keeps, now!" 

“Why would you believe that, Mr Steele? You’ve never given me a reason to believe that anything between us was for ‘keeps’.” 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake…” 

Laura rose abruptly and turned her back on Steele, making for the door. “You should change, or you’ll be late for dinner. I’m going down,” she said over her shoulder, before exiting, leaving Remington Steele sitting speechless on the enormous, four poster bed.


	9. Chapter 9

Remington Steele stared into the fire, as if, by concentrating hard enough on the roaring flames, he could discover some previously unheralded truth about the universe. 

He was seated on a beautiful, seventeenth century maple wood sofa in the library – the room which had become his favorite in the short time that they had been at Ashford Castle. He had spent many hours – whole days, even – sitting in this room, staring into this fireplace. The room was paneled in dark mahogany, thickly carpeted, and lined on three sides by bookshelves that rose from floor to ceiling; it was a masculine room. Despite the dark wood paneling, the large twin windows and high ceiling flooded the room with light, even at this early hour. 

Steele stared at the grandfather clock that was against one wall; it showed the time at a few minutes past seven. So early for someone like him, who had never been an early riser. The clock was a masterpiece in itself – over eight feet tall, and made of rich walnut that had been polished to a mirror shine, its dial was of made of gold leaf and real ivory. Steele, who had a considerable knowledge of antiques, had realized immediately upon seeing the clock for the first time that it was special; it was only when he had read the castle's inventory from Mikeline that he confirmed that it had been made by John Harrison, the greatest clockmaker in history, sometime in the 1730s. This clock alone would be worth perhaps £100,000 at auction, he knew. 

After a restless night spent alone in the master bedroom, Steele had given up the struggle with sleeplessness and had come here, to his sanctuary in the library. He had again dressed as a rural gentleman, in a heavy, gray Donegal tweed suit made by Magee of Donegal, brown country brogues and a gray, woolen Filson shirt. At this hour, none of the servants were yet at their duties and it was too early for breakfast to be served, and so Steele simply sat and stared at the fire, a copy of Vonnegut's _Mother Night_ sitting open on his lap, unread. 

His eyes felt blurry from the lack of sleep, and he had no doubt that they would have been red if he had looked at them in a mirror. He felt like hell this morning; and yet, just yesterday morning, he had awoken with the world as his oyster. Then, it had been the beginning of the rest of their lives – his and Laura's – and they had finally tasted the exquisite fruit that was each other. Steele didn't understand what had happened in twenty-four hours to alter that; they had shared that ultimate moment, and it had been perfect – so why had Laura run away, just when making love to each other had demonstrated how committed they were to each other? 

The door opened and one of the female servants came in; Steele turned to look and recognized Bridgit O'Leary, the head chambermaid. She pulled up in surprise when she saw him, "Oh! Beggin' your pardon, Your Lordship. I didn'a expect anyone to be in here so early in the day. I came to open the curtains and set the fire going." 

"That's alright, Bridgit. Come in, if you like. I've already started the fire and opened the curtains." 

"So I see, Sir. Well, usually I'd clean the room, but seein' as you're installed here, p'raps I'll leave it for now, shall I?" 

"That's fine, Bridgit. I'm sorry to have upset your routine, but I couldn't sleep and it was too early for breakfast, so I ended up in here. Reading, you see?" said Steele, waving his unread copy of Kurt Vonnegut at the maid. 

"The kitchen doesn'a get going until seven or so, Your Lordship. Cook's probably hard at work now, though. Would you like me to bring you something, Sir? A tea tray, or coffee, maysbe?" 

"Thank you. That would be very nice, if it wouldn't be too much trouble. Coffee, please." The maid nodded acknowledgment and turned to leave, when Steele stopped her, "Bridgit?" 

"Yes, Sir?" 

"This, erm – might be a little awkward. But you don't know where Mrs Steele is, do you? She sent her apologies for dinner last night, and since then I haven't, uhm..." Bridgit looked down at the ground, unable to make eye contact with Steele. "It's alright, Bridgit," Steele added soothingly, "you can tell me, there won't be any consequences." 

"Her Ladyship asked me to make up a room for her last night, Sir. She slept in the Pastel Bedroom, so she did, in the East Wing. I took her a tray of food later in the evening, after dinner had been served." 

"Ah, yes – I see. Thank you Bridgit; I think I'll have that coffee now, if you can manage it?" he said with somewhat forced cheerfulness. 

The maid nodded and scurried out.


	10. Chapter 10

Steele climbed the marble staircase two steps at a time, in a hurry to get to the Pastel Bedroom. He wanted to talk to Laura, and he hoped she was awake, despite the early hour – indeed, he hoped she would agree to see him at all. As he reached the second floor level of the grand central hallway, he bumped into Mildred, just coming out of the East Wing. She was already dressed, in a dark blue, three-quarter length dress and mid-heeled court shoes, adorned with a silver brooch at her chest and silver hoop earrings. 

"Oh, hi Chief," Mildred greeted him. 

"Good morning, Mildred." 

“I'm glad I saw you, Boss – can I talk to you for a second?" 

"Now?" asked Remington, glancing at his Longines watch, which showed it was still only seven-thirty. "I'm in a hurry at the moment. Can't it wait?" 

"It's important. Please, it won't take long." 

Steele nodded, and Mildred led him back into the East Wing to her bedroom; he saw a brass plaque on the door as he entered that read ‘Red Bedroom'. The room was large and high ceilinged, with a dark wooden floor mostly covered with a huge Turkish rug, leaving only a strip of floorboards at the edge of the room. The walls were covered in a light red, patterned wallpaper, the velvet curtains were a dark wine red, and the canopied bed was covered in redcurrant-colored bedclothes. Mildred sat down at a red-upholstered, Indian-looking carved mahogany settee, while Steele took one of the matching armchairs. 

"Boss, what exactly is going on with you and Mrs Steele?” 

“Oh, er, what do you mean?” 

“Last night, she asked me to book her a seat on the plane to LA – she wants to go back with me tomorrow. Did you know about that?” 

“It’s news to me.” 

“I thought everything was fine between you two?” 

“I had thought everything was going okay, Mildred – though the last fortnight has been a bit stressful, I guess." 

“What did you do?” 

“Nothing! Nothing that I’m aware of, anyway." 

"Are you sure, Chief?" 

"Look, Mildred...I appreciate your concern, but really – is this actually any of your business? This is between Mrs Steele and me, surely?" 

"Oh, come on Chief! You're my friends, I'm worried about you. Haven't I earned the right to be worried about you?" 

Steele looked at the floor and massaged his temple with his thumb and forefinger for a couple of seconds, as if he had a headache. "Of course, you're right, Mildred," he said finally. 

"So, what's happened, Boss? Why is Miss Holt intent on leaving here?" 

"I don't know Mildred. The last day or so...Laura has seemed to be upset about something." 

“Haven’t you spoken to her?” 

“We did have a talk last night, but it wasn't very...constructive. When Laura gets upset, she tends not to explain her feelings very clearly, you know?” 

"And you have no idea what's wrong?" 

"No, I don't. You know what Laura can be like. I do wonder sometimes – just how many times will I have to figure out what's wrong?” Steele ran his hands through his hair in a gesture of frustration. 

“Boss, you've got to speak to her, find out why she's unhappy. You don't know how hard it can be for women, sometimes.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Men don't understand – we feel things in a different way. This is a man’s world. We spend our whole lives waiting on you.” 

“Nonsense, Mildred! Laura's fiercely independent-minded – a feminist. I don’t think she ever waited on any man.” 

“I don’t mean in work, Boss. I guess I’m not expressing myself very well; I mean emotionally. When you’re a woman, you wait for a man – it's men who choose, you know? That's nerve wracking, and sometimes, we need to hear why you chose us. 

“Chief, you never knew my ex-husband? I was married to that man for nine years, he never talked to me about his feelings! We never shared anything; I never knew what he thought, why he wanted me. Maybe men have got thicker skins? I'm not saying Miss Holt is weak, just that – maybe – you need to give us girls something to lean on, you know? And you, Chief – you're so confident and charismatic – I don’t think you’ve ever suffered from self-doubt in your life. You've had it easy.” 

“Easy? I don’t know about that. I know how life can knock you back.” 

“Yeah, but Miss Holt – she's so fearless in her working life but so nervous, sometimes, in her personal life. If there's something wrong, you need to go after her, and talk to her.” 

“How do you know all this, eh? Did she confide in you?” 

“Nah, uh-huh. But we have talked in the past, Mr Steele. I know Miss Holt gets nervous about you and what you do to her: you're kinda unpredictable – you’re danger personified! You need to help her; if you really care about her, you gotta give her some emotional support.” 

“Just how much support can I give her? Every little neurosis she's got, I’m supposed to jump, am I?” 

“Yes! That's what it means to love someone, Boss. I'm not saying she’s right, but I am saying that it isn't always fair shares – sometimes you gotta do more work than the other person, you gotta make them feel better about something even if you've had a bad day, you gotta say sorry even if you did nothing wrong – and all because you care about them.” 

“Laura told you these things – her feelings? I’m surprised – she’s a very private person.” 

“Sisterhood is powerful, Chief!” Mildred rose and headed for the door, "Do you mind if I have Terence drive me in the Rolls after breakfast? I need to go into Dublin and book those plane tickets, and I'd like to buy a few souvenirs as well." 

"Go ahead, Mildred, I shan't need the car. I'm not going anywhere."


	11. Chapter 11

Remington knocked and, without waiting for an answer, pushed into the Pastel Bedroom. The wooden shutters were open and the light flooded in, allowing him to take in the whole room. It was decorated in a French provincial style: the palest green walls, a cream colored carpet, with all the furniture pure white with highlights in gold leaf, the canopy of the four poster bed the palest mauve, and all the bed clothes and soft furnishings in pastel green or blue. 

The room was obviously empty; a quick glance showed no sign of Laura in the attached bathroom either. The bed was unmade, and Steele could see an indentation on the mattress and pillow from a human body; he walked up and put his hand on the spot for a few seconds, hoping to feel some residual warmth – a connection with her. 

As he made to leave, an object on the nightstand caught his eye – a leather-bound notebook. He knew immediately that it was Laura's diary; he had seen her writing in it many times during the last two weeks, and although he had been curious, he had refrained from asking her about it. Steele reached out now, then hesitated; to read someone else's diary – it was a breach of trust, wasn't it? Unforgivable? He sat down on the bed, staring at the brown, half letter-sized book; after some seconds, he picked it up and opened it. 

Remington was standing at one of the windows, where the light was brighter, reading Laura's diary, when the door opened and a uniformed chambermaid came swishing in. "Oh, Your Lordship – haven’t I done it again, now – interrupting you! Beggin' your pardon!" 

Steele looked up. "Bridgit...I'm afraid I'm always in your way." 

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I thought the room would be empty, seein' as Her Ladyship had gone." 

"You knew she wasn't here?" 

"Sure enough, Sir. Didn't I see her only a coupl'a minutes ago a-headin’ out? She didn'a even have her breakfast!" 

"Where, Bridgit? Which way did she go?" 

"She was walking towards the lake, Sir." 

"Thank you, Bridgit," said Steele, as he put the diary back in its place on the nightstand, before rushing out of the room. Bridgit watched him leave, then turned and began to make the bed. 

Steele headed out through the formal back garden, taking long strides and scanning the path ahead of him. In the distance, beyond the castle's boundary walls, he could see a figure strolling slowly on the lakeside path – Laura. Steele followed, gaining on her easily, walking fast while Laura took her time. When he got within hailing range of her, he slowed to a more normal pace, and allowed the sound of his steps to alert her to his presence. Laura heard someone behind her, and turned; seeing him, she stopped and waited for him to catch up. 

Steele approached Laura cautiously, unsure of her mood. He noticed how incongruously she was dressed – he could see the long, midnight blue skirt of her dress from the previous evening peeking out from under her borrowed, oversized green Barbour jacket and above her Wellington boots. She seemed calm to him, her face blank and unrevealing. "I've been looking for you, Laura," he said, keeping his voice neutral, trying not to let the urgency show through. 

"Well, here I am.” 

“You, er, didn't have any breakfast this morning?” 

"I wasn’t hungry. It was such a beautiful morning, I thought I’d go for a walk." Laura turned and they began to walk again. 

"Do you think we could talk?" 

"If you like." Laura cut off the path and led them down to the water's edge, and they started to follow the shoreline. Remington remembered another conversation that they had had at the edge of the water; on that occasion it had been by the ocean in Malibu, where they had confronted some issues in their relationship. Steele hoped today would end just as well. "What did you want to talk about?" Laura asked. 

“What's going on, Laura? Mildred told me you're going back to Los Angeles.” 

“Oh, she told you, did she?” 

“Uh-huh. Why are you running away?” 

“I’m not running away, I'm going back to LA to run Remington Steele Investigations. That's what I do. That's my place.” 

“Isn’t your place here, with me?“ 

“There's just no reason to stay here, is there?” 

“Don’t try that on me, Laura. We’re friends…lovers...If there's anyone who knows you, it's me. I know you're either scared or angry – and so you're running.” 

“You think you really know me, don’t you?” 

“Is it something I did? Are you angry with me? If it is, tell me! And I'll fix it if I can, or I'll apologize, or something.” 

“No...no. It's nothing you did. I’m not angry with you.” 

“Well something's wrong, and if you're not angry, then you're scared. That's it, isn’t it? We make love for the first time, and it's the same old confusion, the same old fear?” 

“Of you? I’m not afraid of you.” 

“Come on, Laura! Give me some credit; I may not be the most in-touch-with-my-feelings man in the world, but I can learn from experience, you know. We’ve been here before – Acapulco, Cannes, London...” 

“This is nothing to do with those places.” 

“Those arguments?” 

“No.” 

“Ha!” 

“You see? You just don’t get it, do you? Jumping in to judge me.” 

“I'm not judging you, Laura! I want to help you – us. I don't want you to go back to LA. I want you to stay here with me.” 

“Why?” 

“Because of what we mean to each other, of course. Because of the night before last. Doesn't the fact that we made a commitment to each other mean something to you? I care for you.” 

“It's not enough. Whatever happened between us – I mean making love to each other – wasn't enough.” 

“You're doing what you always do, Laura. Pulling away. Laura Holt – emotionally scarred, emotionally scared, and pulling away from someone who cares about her.” 

Laura pulled up short. “No! Don't you dare psychoanalyze me, Mr Steele. You, of all people.” 

Remington stopped as well and half-turned to face her directly. “Why not? I’m affected by this, you know! Do you think I don’t have feelings? But no – there you are, laying down ultimatums again! Just like Cannes. Just like LA. Let's be friends and colleagues, only, you said! Was there any say in the matter for _me_? No! And then the great 'thaw' – again, what Laura wants, Laura gets, eh?” 

“It's not like that. Don’t...don’t characterize me like that.” 

“Why not, Laura? Is it unfair? I know you're scared...this relationship of ours has been long and winding. Bloody hell, I’m scared too! But I don’t lay down ultimatums the way you do. It’s bloody unfair of you to just say 'I’m going back to LA’.” 

“I, er...I never thought about how you would feel about it...” 

“Well, I hope you would think about my feelings, if you care about me.” 

“Of course I do. I’m sorry...I guess I have always been unilateral, haven’t I? I must’ve hurt you?” 

“You want honesty? Then the truth is – you have. Women think men don’t have feelings, I guess. We’re all the strong and silent types, aren't we? But actually, there's only so many times you can kick a chap from pillar to post before he's not going to get up again.” 

“I didn't mean it that way. I never thought about your pain." Laura glanced away for a second, too ashamed to look him in the eye. "Maybe I am running away – but so what? The truth is, I want to leave before I get hurt.” 

“What makes you think you’ll get hurt?” 

“What do you expect of us? That we settle down, play house and live happily ever after?” 

“Why not? Is it that impossible?” 

“Come on! Can you see yourself doing that? What possible evidence is there that you're capable of that?” 

“What are you talking about? We’re married – we had a wedding.” 

“A sham! I told you it was a sham!” Laura shouted. 

“You're angry about the ceremony, aren't you? Still?” 

“Of course!" Laura threw up her hands, "Aargh! You make me so mad! Why couldn't you have just been honest with me? If you had problems with Immigration, why didn't you just tell me? Isn't that what people who are with each other do? Why did you have to connive over it?” 

“What good would it have done? Would you have married me? No!” 

“How do you know?” 

“You said so! You said so in the bloody street, on the way to the wedding chapel.” 

“I was angry, that's all.” 

“What – so you would have married me?” 

“Maybe! Maybe? I don't know, now – because you didn't ask me. That's the point! If you had a problem, and we're partners – in every sense of the word – then you should have told me about the INS. Isn't a problem shared a problem halved? At least, that's what my mother always told me. God, why do you have to finesse _everything_? You've let me down so often – so how can I trust someone who won't be honest about things?“ 

“So that’s what this is all about? You're angry because of what happened back in LA, on the boat, eh?” 

“Yes. No. Oh, maybe...I don’t even blame you, you just can't help yourself. You’ll never change.” 

“Oh really? You think that, do you?” 

“Yes. It's just who you are. I don't really understand why you are the way you are...but there it is. We're just too different.” 

“Rubbish.” 

“I know you care for me. I care about you. But you are the way you are...” 

Steele turned away from Laura, to gather his thoughts. The intensity of their conversation was confusing him; he felt frazzled. There was a tree stump by the water's edge a few yards away, and he took a couple of strides and sat down on it. Laura had turned, and was staring out across the lake, her back to him. 

"The lightness of being..." he said quietly. 

“What?” 

“Have you read that book, _The Unbearable Lightness of Being_?” 

“No. I've heard of it, I think...but I haven’t read it.” 

Remington sighed deeply. "You know me Laura, now. After all this time together, you know my story. The bastard child of a criminal and a mother who died in childbirth. No one wanted me, shunted around from relative to orphanage to relative, given different names, eventually nothing but a street arab. Trash – that's what I was..." 

Laura started to cry, listening to him, but kept staring out over the lake, unable to look at him. 

Steele continued, "My childhood was one of impermanence, Laura. I never knew who I could count on, never knew where I would be from week to week. It made me realize the ‘unbearable lightness’ of being alive – we only live once, and it seemed to me that you had to live only with lightness. I don’t know...maybe for other people, a disconnected childhood might have made them search for stability and a warm hearth and home – but I sought out the inconsequential, the unserious: avoiding all ties, constantly moving like a shark that would drown if it came to a standstill...” 

"And so you became ‘The Wanderer’ – whenever who you were at that moment didn't work anymore, you changed it." 

"Ah, you know me too well, eh?" 

"You told me those words, once. I guess I didn't really understand them at the time..." Laura turned around, walked up and knelt down by Steele. She held his hands in hers. "I'm sorry about your childhood. I really am." 

"Forget it, Laura. It was a long time ago." 

"No – no it wasn’t. We never quite get over our upbringing, do we? I really am sorry about yours." Steele didn't say anything, just stared at her. "But it doesn’t really help us, does it? You are how you are, and I am who I am. We're...just too different, aren’t we?" 

"But you’ve changed me, Laura. I know I’ve let you down in the past – and I know that...some of my schemes have driven you to distraction..." 

Laura smiled wanly, despite her tears. “Notice I am not jumping in to contradict you.” 

“Yes, well...What I am trying to say is: that I'm sorry. I’m sorry that we had to get married on a boat. I'm sorry that I sometimes try and diddle things – I guess it's years of habit, and it’s hard to break. But I want you to stay with me, and I want us to be together. Please – please don’t leave me to go back to LA.” 

“I don't blame you, you can't help yourself. You’ll always look for an angle, a way to finesse everything. I guess it's just who you are.” 

“I’ve been committed to you for four years, Laura.” 

“Does four years together mean anything, when I don't know if you'll be there the next time I turn around?” 

“You believe I'll leave you? Now? How can you possibly believe that?” Steele stopped now, and looked directly at Laura. “You want guarantees, eh? It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?” 

“Yes! Yes, dammit! And I've never had them from you.” Laura stood up and walked back to the water's edge, turning her back on Steele again. Unaccountably, she felt angry and sad at the same time. 

Steele walked up behind her. “Why can’t you believe me? I’ve told you before, I’m not going anywhere!” 

"How can I believe someone who doesn't know how to be emotionally authentic?" 

"What are you talking about?" 

Laura spun around. "What am I talking about? It's obvious! You! – you're incapable of sharing your feelings." 

"But I _do_ care for you, Laura. More than anyone else, ever. Isn't that enough?" 

"Oh, for goodness sake! You said yourself your life hasn't been a textbook case of responsibility or stability, has it? You’ve spent your entire life wandering from one place to another, from one woman to another – haven't you? You care for me more than anyone else, ever – but that isn't saying much, is it? It's not enough." 

"For God's sake, woman! We're married – what more guarantees can I give you?" 

"Why should I believe you? You can't even say the words." 

Steele's eyes widened; he looked genuinely puzzled. "You want words – always words, Laura? Words are easy. Anyone can spout words if they're motivated enough – it doesn't mean their feelings are real." 

"But saying the words doesn't mean the feelings are fake either, does it? Even the other night…all you had were half-formed feelings. You wanted me, you had me – but the most you could say was that you wouldn't waste any more time 'showing people who were close to you how you felt for them.' Weasel words!" 

“I've told you before, Laura, I'm not going anywhere, and I meant it. Why? Because I love you, that's why! You wanted me to say it – well I have!" 

"Don't say it to appease me!" Laura shouted, fire in her eyes. 

"I meant it! More than anything I've ever said before." 

"What do you want from me?" 

"I want you to stay with me – because I love you." 

Laura was suddenly a little girl – her eyes widened in surprise. The two of them were frozen in the scene, neither moving, as Remington’s words hung there. “Do you?” queried Laura, very softly. 

Steele suddenly laughed his boyish, bemused laugh; he couldn’t quite believe himself what he had just said. But it was true. It was like diving off a high board at the pool – the first time was terrifying, but it became easier and easier. “Yes, Laura Holt. I love you.” 

Laura stood staring at him, and he pulled her towards him now, crushing her into his chest. He held her tightly; he wouldn’t let her go ever again. They stood by the water's edge for minutes – or perhaps it was for the lifetime of the universe… 

Laura said quietly, “I'm sorry I said those things last night...about an itch that needed to be scratched. They were hurtful – and untrue. Making love to you was wonderful...I was just protecting...” 

“Shh. I know; you don't have to apologize. I'm sorry I _didn’t_ say those things.” 

“I don't understand? Say what?” 

“I'm sorry I didn't say before this that I loved you. Because I did...for a long time, now. And I should have said it a long time ago.” 

Laura pulled back a little so she could see his face; Mr Steele – usually so confident, usually with a wicked gleam in his eye – seemed like a little boy now: honest and happy and open. She smiled at him, and let her body go limp as he pulled her again into a hug. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to be folded against his chest and lost in his embrace. 

It really was a beautiful morning.


End file.
